A Scene with Two Hills


At fixed points, West and East ,
Two men stand atop two mile-separate hills-
One at arms, and one weaponless.
They stand under blood-orange sun,
And some constant and impossibly purple buzz is heard from elsewhere.
The West-most man cannot see more than the hazy form of the other,
Yet he fires many shots with miraculous accuracy.

They are red shots across a red valley-
Carving through the redness,
Rending the rightmost man.
This latter falls from his hill
Towards unseen, but lately-reddened greening grass...
While the other flees screaming westward,
From the pursuit of the yellowing orange sun and promised night.

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